


The Case of a Third Bonecharm

by adrift_me



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Attempt at Humor, Crack, Gen, Human!Outsider, M/M, Post-DotO, detective Daud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 11:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Private Investigator Daud is out to catch partners in crime who seem to be after every single bonecharm in Dunwall. Bitter taste of whiskey, dark rainy cobblestone streets and the best noir aesthetic has to offer accompany his and BIllie Lurk's little investigation.





	The Case of a Third Bonecharm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the weekly challenge in Dishonored discord chat, this week's prompt being 'noir'. I have never read or watched noir, to be honest, so I tried to go for the famous stereotypes of this genre. I also rather suck at humour, but I tried to make it as cracky and full of ridicule as possible :D  
> Hope you will enjoy!
> 
> Savos and Otho belong to Tam and Kooks, thank you, awesome people, for letting me play with your OCs :3

The Flooded District houses the cream of the bourgeoisie. White collars and all the blue ink stains on the sleeves, heavy pouches of coins and boundless feeling of superiority, people breathing in industrial air. No place for such a man as Daud, but he persists and they are grateful.

The citizens of Dunwall wouldn’t have him in any other place, knowing as he is the smartest and bestest private investigator of Dunwall. The City Watch comes to him for advice and some say even the Empress, Emily Kaldwin, First of Her Name, asked him for help in private matters. He always takes a case and hasn’t failed a single one.

“This might be the first one I have no means to solve,” Daud says lowly, his heavy piercing gaze resting on his assistant’s face. Billie Lurk, an assistant by day and his the leader of his shadows by night, lies on the leather couch by the other wall, leg swinging as she is staring at the ceiling. 

“You said it many times before, Daud. And yet solved it all.”

“These are different times, Billie. The city is drowning in its own ambition, too small for all the people trying to make a living. And among them, the noble servants of burglary and murder. With some I dare not interfere.”

Billie rises to lean back on the couch and spreads an arm over its back. Her short hair peeks from under a fedora she fixed on her head. Black curls frame her face and, like a blemish, a black eye patch covers her right eye. There is a story behind it, undoubtedly, as there is one behind everything that makes her Billie Lurk. The missing arm and the brooding facial expression, all of it spells history.

Much like Daud. Silver hair brushed back, a heavy coat spread on broad shoulders, a glass of fine Dunwall whiskey and spectacles with a simple thin black rim. Ladies and gentlemen swoon after the investigator, but he pays them no mind, set on his goal to eliminate the underworld.

“Have you learnt anything from the interviews we collected?” Billie asks, turning her legs to cross over each other as she gazes at her boss.

Daud takes another swig of whiskey - a good noble brew with a tinge of crime behind its production - and sets the empty glass on his banker’s desk. A matching banker’s lamp sits atop it, its green shade being the only colourful spot in Daud’s office. It’s a small messy room, a leather couch and a couple of armchairs, a desk full of papers that depict the lowest and darkest secrets and crimes of the city. There is a wall-length cabinet behind Daud’s chair and a selection of drinks, fit to serve a day’s worth of investigation.

Daud tugs at the tip of his chin.

“Too much for my taste,” he responds at last, taking a stack of papers in his hands, and browses through witness interviews and reports. They’ve visited quite a few people who encountered the culprits they are after, from a string of words of brothel dancers to whole letters of noblemen. 

The said culprits, the carefully cut diamond of the crime essence in Dunwall, have long bothered Daud’s and Billie’s minds as well as the peaceful lives of the genteel. They come from the dark and disappear before one can blink an eye. Things vanish under their touch as fast as whiskey in Daud’s glass. From harmless books to whole relics (Billie still wonders if it was their job, stealing the infamous twin-bladed knife of the Outsider in Karnaca).

Latest jobs, however, look too messy for so experienced a couple, but Daud knows. Out on a bonecharm hunt, no shame in their pursuit. Daud knows.

He shakes out a few pages from the stack and fixes his spectacles, bringing the interviews for closer inspection of his sharp eyes.

**Month of Wind, Day 6. Black Market owner, Emperor Euhorn’s str.**

_ “They were very charming, hiding their faces. This is a normal fashion for a black market clientele. One was a bit creepy though, eyes clear and like he knows all your secrets. Such an oddball! _

_ And so generous in their purchases, I remember it still. A whole armful of sleep darts and a rewire tool. They paid for it alright, and then right when I leaned down to press the button of the folds, they were gone and a bonecharm with them. It’s no biggie, sir investigator, they were upstanding gentlemen. I’m glad to be rid of the thing, to be honest.” _

He swaps the page and reads another one.

**Month of Wind, Day 6. Local laundry employee.**

_ “Saw them kneeling over a sewer drain. They pulled out some strange glowing thing, a bonecharm, I think. But this is where I knew to hurry up and away. Don’t want them Overseers questioning me.” _

And one more.

**Month of Wind, Day 6. The Golden Cat worker.**

_ “Of course, I saw them here in the Golden Cat. But they never come for our girls or boys. Every week they come to see mistress Lucy and walk out with their pockets buzzin’. I think she’s dealing them something, but I dare not ask. I actually like my job!” _

Daud puts the pages away, folds the glasses and rubs hands over his long tired face, rubbing the smell of alcohol into his rough scarred skin. Fingers draw over deep scars on the right side of his face. It’s that long buried history again, one that he returns to thinking about when having lonely dates with a bottle of infamous Dunwall whiskey from his cabinet. 

“Why are we chasing them again?” Billie asks, sliding into an armchair in front of Daud and measuring him with a curious gaze of a healthy eye.

“The citizens want peace, Billie, and we are out to provide.”

“Something tells me you are not very eager to catch them.”

Daud looks away but there’s a glimpse of a sly smile in the corner of his thin mouth.

“Especially not even when that old couple, bickering like they have been married for two decades, seemed to have confirmed something to you.”

Daud turns around in his chair to pull a companion glass from the cabinet and places it before Billie. Amber brew spills in it and over the table, and the partners clink glasses, as Daud sinks into thoughts over that visit.

***

It has been a cold and rainy night, just a day ago, pavement wet and muddy with footprints. Daud, shadowed by Billie, finds his way to an apartment which has been recently rumoured as robbed. Though Daud knows most of the citizens, at least some dirt present in his desk drawers on each of them, the couple living in the said apartment is suspiciously clean. For Daud it’s a pleasant change, as they might just be the people of the very underworld he tries to eradicate. Or does he?

He knocks on the door, heavy pounding knocks of a forceful fist. It shatters the silence like fragile glass. Soon enough the door creaks open and a gentleman is looking through the crack in it. For a moment Daud stares back, narrowed eyes piercing those hidden behind the spectacles. 

“How can I help?” the man’s voice is low rough velvet and his facade is suspicious calmness. Folds of a green soft robe wrap his body and there is a ponytail peeking from behind a shoulder.

“Evening. Savos, isn’t it? My apologies for intrusion. I am a private investigator,” Daud waves formality, the investigator’s badge, in his face through the crack, “and I hear there has been a robbery. I would like to ask a few questions about it, if I may.”

The man considers him for a moment, nothing betraying thoughts on his face, and then pushes the door open.

“I will answer your questions, but make sure you don’t stain the floor. I’ve just cleaned the rugs.”

Billie cares to check the mud on her boots before entering, while Daud doesn’t bother. Instead, he looks around the apartment. It’s a neat little place, the necessary amount of furniture and decorations put up quite tastefully. Trophies of import, gleaming items that Daud has no idea about its origins, some Serkonan decor that feels almost like home to the investigator. And amidst it all a tall man who gestures at the unexpected guests to sit.

“Tea?”

Billie shakes her head and Daud feels for the aftertaste of bitter whiskey on his tongue.

He shakes his head too.

“We are here for a moment,” Daud settles in the seat of a sofa, throwing a cushion aside. Savos sits across them, eyes them calmly from behind the half-moons of his reading glasses.

“About that robbery. Nothing was taken, luckily,” Savos supplies, leaning over to the small table, from which he takes a full cup of tea. “They didn’t have a chance to.”

As if to indicate why, Savos’s knuckles move while he holds the cup and Daud notices a few scratches of red, the herald of a fight that must have transpired.

At that moment someone walks out of an adjoined room. Savos looks up and cracks a small smile.

“This gentleman and the lady are here about the robbery, Otho.”

Daud looks at the older man, whose hair is as white as snow in Tyvia and whose facial scars could match those of Daud’s in history and depth. Otho gruffs something and comes to stand behind the sofa, leaning onto its squishy back.

“Not much to say, those idiots were absolute amateurs. But they didn’t get to steal anything. Savos has a good right hook.”

He smirks and steps away to leave for the room he came from. Savos looks at Daud and his cheeks are touched by just a tinge of pink, visible over his beard. Billie snickers quietly, hiding it in a cough.

“How did they get in then?” Daud asks over Billie’s fit of laughter. How he wishes he had a glass of whiskey in his hand right now.

“Through the balcony door. I have no idea how they managed to climb there, but they did and crashed right into the living room. I don’t think they expected us to be at home, even if we had our lights off. But it was over midnight, people sleep by that hour, so their amateurism is quite obvious.”

Daud huffs something under his breath.

“Do you know them?” Savos wonders from behind the rim of his cup.

“Perhaps,” Daud answers curtly and then rises. “Thank you for your time, Savos. This helps my investigation a lot.”

Savos too is rising, and so is Billie. The man shrugs and gestures with his arm for the exit.

“If you find the idiots, don’t be too harsh on them. I like to think my fist persuaded them to drop the career of burglary.”

“I’m sure it did,” Daud’s lips curl in a smile as he squeezes Savos’ hand in a goodbye handshake.

***

Daud leans thoughtfully against the window, pushing fingers through dusty wooden planks of the blinds. It casts shadows on his tired face, contrasting with the scars. A contrast akin to the good citizens of Dunwall and those who lurk in the shadows.

He glances at the grandfather’s clock, ticking away rhythmically in the corner of the room. It’s time. 

He takes off his glasses and pockets them in the inner side of his coat. Flips a hat off the clothing stand which rarely holds more than two coats, those of Daud’s and Billie’s. The hat covers his eyes that look up heavily at his assistant.

“Where are we going?” Billie asks as she approaches her boss, fixing her own fedora and checking in with the image in a dirty mirror.

“I think it’s time you met someone,” Daud gruffs and beckons Billie to follow.

***

The Hounds’ Pit may not be the most elegant bar in the city, but it serves a good brew and buzzes with rumours, and this is a mix Daud likes best. Wrapped tightly in his coat, collar up high, he leads Billie inside to sit in one of the further booths. The table is as muddy as the patrons’ past and the seats sag unpleasantly as Daud and Billie settle in them. The place is busy tonight, waiters running around with trays of beer, wine and champagne, and the barman barely has time to listen to the old whalers’ stories and complaints as they coo over their mugs with strong brew.

Daud gestures at one of the serving girls, Cecilia.  _ The usual _ , his nod says and the young woman wanders off to get it. The usual in Daud’s understanding is a bottle of whiskey, a box of cigars and the best selection of fresh gossip that Cecilia has been providing tirelessly for quite a while.

There is a singer walking around the place, a small microphone in her hand. She is dressed finely, feathers and silks, and her voice pours sweetly as she treats the patrons to sultry songs of the Isles. To Daud that sound is a background noise, albeit a pleasant one. 

Billie looks around cautiously, her remaining eye spying and recognizing the patrons. 

Her brows furrow when a couple of men in black coats slide into their booth without invitation. Her mouth rounds to badmouth them out, but Daud gestures in the air dismissively.

“Stand down, Billie. They are here to meet us. Me, specifically.”

Daud pulls a cigar out of the box and slowly lights it up. Smoke rises in the air from the glowing tip of it and the investigator takes a drag. The strangers look straight at him. One of them hides his face beneath a shadow of a fedora, another one has a more open air, but Billie can’t see him well yet. Both emanate enough mystery to drown a whaling ship.

“Billie, meet the most skilled craftsmen of the underworld in the Empire. Partners in crime, Corvo and the Outsider, as he prefers to be called still,” Daud takes another drag of the cigar and eyes the men across the table. Then laughs gruffly and leans back in the seat. “Idiots, who decided to break into an apartment and steal a goddamn bonecharm.”

“It was a date,” one of them objects with a smile in his youthful voice. He pulls off his fedora to reveal a surprisingly young face with eyes round and ancient. Billie looks away from him, and Daud gives her a smirk.

“And it would have gone well, had we not decided to casually rob a place that was nearly buzzing with the bonecharm songs and turned out to be houseing a couple of muscled old men,” the other one retorts grumpily, tugging at his hat to hide more of his face. His partner smiles in amusement and slithers an arm in the crook of his partner’s.

“Corvo got punched in the face,” he leans in to give his partner a kiss but the man pushes away, making the young man laugh.

“I know,” Daud shakes his head. “You weren’t particularly discreet. Not much in general lately.”

“We apologize for adding too much work for you, Daud,” the young man, the Outsider, muses, no trace of apology in his gaze. “But you know we provide. Bonecharms, runes. Your favourite whiskey. So what if we misbehave a little?”

“Mhm,” Daud hums and takes another drag of his cigar. Billie looks utterly bewildered and now merely stares at the Outsider who gives her an outrageous wink. Then he relaxes in the seat and turns to look at the singer who is passing close by their booth. He has no interest in her curves or the glitter of her clothing, his fingers tapping on the upholstery in rhythm with music.

“Before I go and leave you to it, let me at least have a glimpse of that pretty blue eye,” Daud, much to Billie’s surprise, cracks a bitter smile, nodding at Corvo. The man has his hands up on the table, locked and thumbs rubbing over each other. There are scars all over his hands and a strap of fabric over the left one. He has many secrets to hide and Billie’s curiosity strains as she tries to read him. His companion is still smiling leisurely, sliding a hand to hold Corvo’s.

“I won’t give you such pleasure,” the man says lowly, offense in every syllable.

“Just a tiny glimpse.”

“No.”

“I will cover your “date”.  _ Sweetheart _ ,” he says the casual angel-word that is heard too often in the pub, his voice dripping with mockery. Corvo’s head rises a little and he throws a dirty look at Daud.

“You would anyway,” the Outsider says, tipping his head. Daud rolls eyes but immediately darts his gaze to Corvo, who slides the hat off his head with a groan and drops it dramatically on the pub table.

“Otho was right, that  _ must _ have been one good right hook!” Billie says, unable to catch the words falling out of her mouth like coins from a stuffed purse. Corvo glares at her, his left eye dark blue and purple. Daud smiles just a little, content with what he sees. He couldn’t get his hands on Corvo for as long as they’ve known each other, and it’s many years now. Being what one could call frenemies, Daud is enjoying every little bit of vengeance Corvo gets on his face.

The Outsider runs knuckles over Corvo’s healthy cheekbone which causes Daud to roll his eyes again. He pulls out a handful of coins from his pocket and slams them on the table. It is by that moment that the Outsider, glancing sideways at Daud with a smirk, leans in to kiss his partner.

“You two are insufferable, I hope you know that,” he rises from the seat and Billie follows.

“Save that notion for your spy gang,” the Outsider smiles again, pulling away from Corvo for a moment.

“Do we have a deal, Daud?” Corvo huffs. Daud measures him with a glance and for a moment Billie thinks he is going to simply walk away. Instead, he thrusts out a hand in a leather glove, and Corvo shakes it.

“Just don’t go on dates with a penchant for burglary again, will you.”

“If we do, we know you’ll cover for us,” the Outsider grins, his face an exhibit of confidence and sneering. He pulls Corvo to his face again, lips crushing and dramatically sloppy, and Daud gives them a disgusted noise before pulling his collar up and walking out of the pub with Billie in his step.

So what if they consider him the protector of noble citizens and their pouches and treasures. Covering for the underworld has been a longer and much more benevolent life of his.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come chat with me on tumblr or give me a prompt :)](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/)


End file.
